


Alive

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a close call, Neal and Peter need to feel all the right things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the porn round of [](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/profile)[**run_the_con**](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/) for [](http://ratherastory.livejournal.com/profile)[**ratherastory**](http://ratherastory.livejournal.com/)'s prompt "up against the wall." Thank you to [](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/)**theatregirl7299** for looking it over quickly.

Neal was flat against the wall, the muzzle of a very large rifle jabbed into his back, knocking against his spine. His face was turned to the side, and he couldn't see the man behind him or the other half a dozen men standing a couple of yards away with guns in their hands. All he saw was Peter, flattened with a rifle to his back a few feet down the wall from Neal--too far to touch, close enough to see the naked anger and fear in Peter's eyes.

Neal didn't know how far away their backup was, and he didn't know if Peter had any tricks up his sleeve, but Neal didn't have any moves that wouldn't get one or both of them killed. Neal's eyes were locked on Peter's, and as the cold wall dug tiny points of pain into the side of his face he raised his eyebrows to ask the question. Peter shook his head, barely a twitch, and Neal swallowed hard.

Their covers were blown, and one wrong move meant death but not moving was probably going to mean death just the same. Neal felt cold all over, frozen, but Peter looked like he was close to boiling, his jaw clenched tight in his flushed face. Neal wanted to close his eyes, to go away in his mind, but he couldn't look away from Peter. He couldn't break that connection.

The man behind Neal said something, and he jabbed the muzzle of the rifle hard into Neal's ribs again, pushing his chest harder against the wall until he could feel the cold concrete through the thin cotton of his shirt. In the corner of his eye, Neal saw movement behind Peter, and then Peter's eyes widened, the dark metal of a handgun pushed against his temple, and Neal desperately didn't want to see what was going to happen but he couldn't let Peter die alone. His eyes burned as he stared straight into Peter's, and when the room erupted in gunfire Neal didn't understand why Peter was still alive, why either of them was still alive, until he heard the doors crash open.

He heard people running, and he heard shouts--some of them his own name. Nobody was holding Neal up anymore, and he sank down the wall until he was kneeling on the concrete floor. Peter crashed down to his hands and knees, his shoulder brushing against Neal's elbow as he gasped for air, and Neal put a hand on his back and grabbed a handful of his jacket to hold onto as he shook, the room wavery and strange around him.

Neal felt hands on his shoulders and started to struggle until he heard Diana's voice. He let go then, let go of Peter and let go of himself and when everything was clear again he was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, leaning just a little bit sideways against Peter as Peter leaned against him. Diana and Jones were in front of them, and beyond them he could see bodies covered up on the floor.

Soon enough, they were all on their feet again, leaving the warehouse and the bodies within it. Neal thought he was doing a passable imitation of his usual self but inside he felt like a pile of ice cubes shaking together in a glass. Looking at Peter, he saw that the calm confidence and leadership that Peter usually exuded was a brittle shell, about to crack from the heat and pressure inside. _Home_ , Neal said with his eyes when Peter looked back. _We need to go home._

They went. Peter wasn't fit to drive so they got a cab straight to Neal's place. Later, they would go home to El. Later, they would tell her what had happened, what had almost happened, and let her hold onto them, let her hold them together. Later, they would make love gently and try to sleep without nightmares. Right now, Neal needed something else.

Behind the locked door, in the shadows cast by the streetlights shining in from outside the windows, Neal kissed Peter hard. He held Peter's head in his hands and stroked his thumb over the temple, the place where everything would have been torn apart. Peter whimpered into Neal's mouth as he spread his hands out over Neal's back and pulled him closer, as close as they'd both been to that concrete wall, the wall that wasn't stained with their blood.

They pulled away from each other, pulling in ragged breaths, pulling off their clothes and leaving them haphazardly on the floor as they made their way to the bed. Neal wanted everything the opposite of the way it had been, the way they almost ended. He needed the soft bed under his back, Peter on top of him, Peter's warm chest pressed flat against him as they kissed again. Neal spread his legs, bent his knees around Peter and shifted his hips, rubbing himself against Peter's hard length.

Peter sighed, heavy and shuddering, and nodded his head against Neal's shoulder. He knelt up, and Neal heard the drawer in his bedside table open. Neal didn't care about lube, didn't care, just needed Peter inside of him. He pushed against the slick pressure of Peter's thumb and nodded. _Come on, come on._ Then the thumb was gone, and Peter locked eyes with Neal as he pushed inside. The shock of almost-pain was a wave of heat that melted the cold, jagged places inside of Neal, and as they moved together Neal felt Peter's first urgent, slamming thrusts calm into smoother movement as the hectic heat in his eyes cooled into relief.

Neal wrapped his legs around Peter's back, his hands around Peter's shoulders, touching everywhere he could, and when they both came Peter slumped down to rest against Neal's chest. Neal couldn't see Peter's eyes anymore, but he could feel Peter's breath move across his skin. He looked down and saw the top of Peter's head, whole and perfect, his hair spiky with sweat.

For the first time since he heard those gunshots, Neal knew that he was really alive.


End file.
